


so that you reach all that my love orders for you

by tunajohns



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ghost!Jaehyun, M/M, jaemin is a ghost whisperer, noren are supportive boyfriends, taeyong is their teacher and referred to as mr. lee, the dreamies are in high school, there's a lot of supportive boyfriends in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunajohns/pseuds/tunajohns
Summary: Jaemin has a gift.





	so that you reach all that my love orders for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [_helios (neocitz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neocitz/gifts).



Mr. Lee is, quite possibly, the hottest teacher in the nation.

Well, at least that’s what Jisung says, in the middle of the night during his birthday sleepover at Chenle’s house. Upon hearing this particular tidbit of information, Chenle (understandably) tries to suffocate his boyfriend with a pillow.

‘Dude,’ Jeno says, blushing in the dim lamplight, ‘it’s kinda weird to call a teacher hot.’

Jaemin rolls his eyes. ‘Says  _you._ ’ Jeno hides his face under his blanket. Jaemin’s seen Jeno gaping at the teacher during lunch break, starry eyed and face lobster-red. Mr. Lee had asked Jeno how his Mathematics classes were going, and Jeno had struggled to form words that weren’t monosyllabic. (Jaemin’s not jealous. Not in the slightest. He will in no way be jealous of his own English teacher.)

Mark sits up against the wall he’s pressed himself against. ‘Okay, but I guess Mr. Lee’s kind of objectively good looking? But dude, he’s literally my cousin. Chill with the thirst.’

Jaemin blinks a few times. ‘What?’ This is news to him. Actually, this is news to everyone, with the way Renjun’s shot up from his place cuddled at Jeno’s side, Donghyuck making a sound not unlike a donkey having an asthma attack, and Jisung literally choking (or maybe Chenle’s pillow has done his work. Jaemin’s a little groggy right now, and isn’t exactly paying attention to his two youngest friends).

‘Why did you never  _tell us_?’ Donghyuck whines, whacking Mark’s shoulder with a lightly-curled fist. ‘Oh my God, Mark, he shares your  _genes_. It’s as gross as crushing on  _you_.’ Renjun, already half-asleep, slumps back down to cuddle Jeno again.

Jaemin winces as he sees Mark’s once-neutral half-smile do a swan dive into the most depressingly obvious frown he’s ever seen. ‘You’re crushing on my  _cousin_?’

‘In his defence,’ Renjun mumbles, ‘half the school is. Have you even seen Mr. Lee’s pigeon hole on Valentine’s Day?’

Chenle finally stops assaulting Jisung, tossing his pillow back behind him on his bed. ‘Dude,  _hell yeah_  we have. It’s not even like his admirers are obvious about it – they  _line up_  to drop letters and stuff into it.’

‘I think it’s because he’s never at school on Valentines,’ Jisung muses, as Chenle snuggles onto his lap, the older boy clearly over his little bout of jealousy. ‘I have him for English, yeah, and in all the three years he’s worked here, I’ve never seen him at school that day.’

‘Yeah, same.’ Jaemin strokes his chin in thought. ‘That’s why everyone can be so shameless about giving him Valentines stuff?’

‘Probably,’ Donghyuck says, airily. ‘That’s why  _I_ do it, anyways.’

‘ _Oh my God_ ,’ Jeno whispers, tugging on Jaemin’s sleeve so he leans down to hear his boyfriend. ‘ _Look at Mark_.’

Jaemin, the dutiful boyfriend he is, looks at Mark. Mark Lee, boy-wonder and school sweetheart, looks like he’s just experienced a Top 10 Anime Betrayal. ‘ _Awh, shit_.’

Renjun stirs at Jeno’s side, reaching out to Jaemin. Jaemin, melting completely at the guesture, takes his other boyfriend’s hand. ‘ _They’re so dumb_ ,’ Jeno mumbles, grabbing Jaemin’s other hand petulantly.

‘This isn’t a competition, guys.’ Jaemin can’t help but laugh at the sight of his sleepy boyfriends, wrapped around each other and still vying for Jaemin’s attention. His heart is doing the cha cha slide to UwuVille right now.

Donghyuck makes a retching sound. ‘I’m surrounded by couples. This is literally homophobia, my dudes.’

‘It is Wednesday, my dudes?’ Jisung asks, stroking Chenle’s hair from where the boy’s still snuggled up in his lap. Chenle promptly does the complementary  _AaaaaAAAAAAAA_  scream, but quietly so he doesn’t end up stressing out Chenle’s bodyguard (who, if Jaemin isn’t wrong, is probably still standing on guard outside Chenle’s room, and probably listening in on their teenage late-night gossip. Jaemin wonders if he gets paid enough for this job). Couple goals.

‘Okay, okay,’ Chenle says, after Donghyuck buries his face in his hands, Mark staring at him with those dumb puppy dog eyes that Donghyuck magically seems to never notice, ‘but. Why doesn’t Mr. Lee ever turn up to school on Valentines?’

‘Does he go on dates or something? Like, he still seems pretty young, has that eligible bachelor thing going for him.’ Jaemin can see it now. Mr. Lee (should Jaemin think of him as “Taeyong” if he’s imagining his teacher going on dates? Like, it’s a casual setting and all. So, Taeyong –  okay, that just feels weird. Jaemin’s just going to keep thinking of him as Mr. Lee) and a mysterious, faceless stranger, seated at a café together, doing the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti thingo.

Jaemin feels so, so impure right now.

‘I don’t think so,’ Mark says, quietly, and Jaemin can see his friend is still looking a bit troubled. Jaemin makes a mental note to politely ask Donghyuck to open his fucking eyes. ‘He would’ve said something to the family if he started dating again.’

‘Dating again?’ Donghyuck’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Dude, I thought he was married or something.’

‘ _Married?_ ’ screeches Chenle. ‘ _Mr. Lee is_ married _?_ ’

Donghyuck continues on, unbothered. ‘Like, he’s got a band on the ring finger of his left hand. I figured that he’s either hitched or going to be hitched.’

‘Is he, Mark?’ Renjun’s shaken himself awake, clearly ready to hear the hot gossip of the night. Unfortunately, this means he’s let go of Jaemin’s hand in favour of sitting up. Jaemin consoles himself with the fact that Jeno’s still clutching onto him like Jeno’s Rose from the Titanic and Jaemin’s hand is that wooden door that she balances herself on. (Does this make Renjun Jack? Sweet Lord, Jaemin’s imagination killed off his own boyfriend.)

Mark’s frowning even more now, and Jaemin’s starting to get the feeling that the oldest boy isn’t just upset about being carelessly semi-rejected by Donghyuck again. ‘Promise me nothing leaves this room first?’

There’s a chorus of  _hell yeah, bro!_ s and affirmative grunting. Mark takes a deep breath, and everyone leans in. The tension in the room is so thick, it’s like a bowl of oatmeal. It’s so thick that it’s the complete antithesis of Mariah Carey. It’s as thick as Donghyuck in regards to love and his love life. It’s thicker than the Economics textbook that Jaemin is neglecting –

‘Okay, he was married.’ Mark sighs as chaos erupts around the room.

Jaemin would trip if he was standing up. ‘Oh  _shit._ ’ Chenle screams, bouncing around on his bed in a way that makes Jaemin worry about Jisung’s chopstick legs snapping in half. Donghyuck is yelling  _I knew it!_ , whacking his ladybug Pillow Pet against Chenle’s luxurious carpeted floor. Renjun has his arms up in the air, hollering. Jeno, who’d fallen asleep, is in the process of waking up.

‘Hello?’ Jeno asks, groggily.

There’s a series of sharp knocks on Chenle’s door. ‘ _Everything under control, young master?_ ’

Chenle rolls his eyes, raising his voice a little so his bodyguard can hear him. ‘All under control, Kun. Thanks for worrying, though.’

‘ _No problem, sir_.’

‘Can’t you sleep if you wanted to?’

‘ _No can do. It’s just me on the night shift for this floor, anyways._ ’

Chenle sighs. ‘Alright then.’ He turns back to the rest of the guys, lowering his voice back down to its usual volume. ‘Man, my parents really overwork our guards. But, Mark, what do you mean by  _was married_?’

Mark chews at his bottom lip. ‘Exactly what it says on the tin. He used to be married.’

‘To  _who_?’ Jisung asks, eyes wide. ‘Oh man, how did we not notice?’ He pauses, thinking. ‘Now I think of it, he doesn’t really talk about having a partner.’

‘Also,’ Jaemin finds himself saying, ‘Hyuck. How did it feel writing love letters to a married man?’

Donghyuck snorts. ‘Please, Jaems. Like I’m going to  _seriously_  crush on a  _teacher_. My heart belongs to another.’

Jeno blinks a few times from where he’s still sprawled out on the ground. ‘Is it Ma–’

Renjun claps a hand over Jeno’s mouth. Jeno kisses Renjun’s palm, making an obnoxiously (adorably) loud  _mwah_  sound. Renjun’s cheeks tinge with pink. Jaemin is so in love.

Mark, the poor sod, looks like one of those secondhand car sale air dancers, but deflated. ‘Okay, but, why isn’t Mr. Lee married anymore?’ Jaemin wonders if he can keep the conversation going before Mark melts into a pool of unrequited affection.

‘Because,’ Mark sighs, looking even more gloomy than he did before, ‘his husband’s dead.’

The temperature in the room plummets. ‘Oh.’ Jaemin wonders if he can unhear information.

‘That’s fuckin’ depressing,’ Jisung says.

‘No shit.’ Mark runs a hand through his hair, leaning back against the wall. ‘They were cute, too. Childhood friends and all. Taeyong’s husband used to take me out to eat with the two of them.’ Mark’s eyes look distant, almost wet in the dim lamplight. ‘I remember looking at them, holding hands over the table, and I knew that was love, you know. I wanted something like that when I grew up.’

‘You don’t want it anymore?’ Donghyuck’s looking at Mark, really looking at him for the first time this night, and Jaemin feels like Donghyuck’s realising something, something important.

‘I don’t think so,’ Mark’s looking at his hands, watching as his fingers curl into fists. ‘You should’ve seen Taeyong at the funeral. It was raining, but he wouldn’t move from his husband’s grave. If my aunt and uncle didn’t drag him away, I know he would’ve sat there until he passed out.’ Donghyuck reaches out to grab his hand. Mark flinches a little, before linking his fingers with Donghyuck’s, sighing. ‘Call me selfish, but I don’t want to go through something like that. I’m not as strong as my cousin is.’

‘I think you’re strong,’ Donghyuck says, quietly. ‘Loss isn’t something anyone wants to go through, and I wouldn’t wish it on you again, but I think you deserve a love like that. Without the loss.’

‘If only it was that easy,’ Mark replies. He’s looking Donghyuck in the eyes now, so fondly, and Jaemin just wishes the two of them would realise what they have and, Jaemin doesn’t know, make out or something.

Donghyuck smiles back, a little sad, but equally as fond. ‘It could be.’ Jaemin’s going to throw up.

The mood picks back up again, after a few bad jokes and Jisung falling off Chenle’s bed, but Jaemin can’t stop thinking about Mr. Lee. He looks back at his own boyfriends, snuggled against one another, looking like Heaven in two people. Jaemin can’t imagine losing them, doesn’t want to imagine losing them. And he just can’t get the thought of Mr. Lee, sitting by a freshly-dug grave in the rain, hysterical and heartbroken, out of his head.

 

…

 

After the night of Jisung’s birthday sleepover, seeing Mr. Lee at school has been weird, to say the least.

Jaemin’s starting to notice little things about the teacher. Like the way Mr. Lee lends out all the books on the shelf in his classroom except for the Agatha Christie novels, which he refuses to give out even if the students beg him. The little distant look he gets sometimes when his eyes fall upon a couple holding hands during class, freezing a little in the middle of a lecture before picking himself back up again like nothing happened. That one time Mr. Lee had asked the class for a name to give a fictional character when they were going through short story planning, and Felix who Jaemin shares Biology with had answered  _Jeffrey!_  with great enthusiasm – Mr. Lee’s expression had been stricken, and he’d continued through the lesson with the same mournful face.

The lonely little gold band on Mr. Lee’s ring finger shines like a beacon, nowadays.

So maybe Jaemin’s really started to see that his teacher’s not okay. But honestly, Jaemin feels like he’s not entirely okay either.

It all starts when Jaemin goes back to Mr. Lee’s classroom during recess to retrieve his forgotten pencil case.

It’s dark in the classroom – when he doesn’t have classes, Mr. Lee seems to like to leave the blinds closed. The teacher is doodling idly at his desk, a little Tupperware box of salad placed to the side of the small mountain of papers in front of him. He’s got that distant, almost daydreamy look on his face again, big brown eyes glassy beneath his spectacles. He doesn’t seem to notice Jaemin slipping into the room, eyes scanning the desks for his pencil case.

But Jaemin  _definitely_  notices something.

There’s a man, sitting on top of a student table in front of Taeyong. Jaemin feels his face heat up when he realises how  _hot_  the stranger is (but not as hot as Jeno or Renjun, obviously – no one looks better than Jaemin’s two beautiful, talented boyfriends), looking fit as hell with the way he’s casually reclining on  _Jaemin’s table, why is a stranger sitting on JAEMIN’S table???_  Someone’s  _ass_  is on Jaemin’s  _table_.

Jaemin takes a deep breath. He’s not going to start screaming at a complete stranger. Jaemin is cool. Cooler than cool. Ice cold, alright alright alright alright  _alright –_

But something’s off.

Mr. Lee looks up from his scribbling. He sighs, adjusting his glasses, looking straight at the stranger.

Scratch that, he’s looking straight  _through_  the stranger.

‘Mr. Lee?’ Jaemin wonders if his English teacher realises there’s a guy sitting right in front of his very eyes.

Mr. Lee jolts in his seat, dropping his pen in surprise. ‘Oh, Jaemin! Didn’t see you come in. Did you want to ask something about class?’ Mr. Lee’s standing up now, hurriedly neatening the already-perfect stacks of paper on his desk.

The stranger shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. ‘The same as always.’

Jaemin gapes at the stranger. ‘What?’

‘I’m so sorry for the mess, Jaemin,’ Mr. Lee continues, patting down his immaculate dress shirt. ‘I’m normally not like this.’ He laughs, nervously, and Jaemin can’t help but watch the stranger’s face, the little half-smile gracing his lips as he watches Mr. Lee.

Jaemin wonders if he’s hallucinating. ‘Sir, is there someone behind you?’

The stranger’s eyebrows shoot up. Mr. Lee turns around, looking straight at the stranger, dead-on. ‘I don’t see anyone?’

Oh. Oh God. ‘I meant  _something,_ sorry, Sir, slip of the tongue.’ Jaemin takes a deep breath. ‘I think I left my pencil case in the room?’

‘Oh,’ Mr. Lee says, rubbing the nape of his neck with a thin hand. ‘Of course, take a look around.’ The teacher goes back to sit at his desk, sighing at his neat stack of papers before going back to his doodles.

Jaemin scans the room again, and feels his heart try to give out when he sees it right beside the stranger. He really just wants to snatch his pencil case and run out, but he also wants to make sure he isn’t having a trippy dream right now.

So Jaemin does what he always does in these kinds of situations.

(This is the first time he’s ever been in a situation with an invisible stranger, but whatever. He’s innovative. Resilient. Adaptable.)

Checking to make sure Mr. Lee isn’t looking up at him, Jaemin makes eye contact with the stranger, smiles at him (with full teeth!) and  _winks_.

The stranger’s face contorts into a shocked grimace, the beginnings of a shy blush blooming across his visage. He covers his face with his hands. ‘What are they feeding kids these days,’ grumbles the stranger.

Mr. Lee doesn’t even look up. Jaemin walks over to his pencil case, thumb running over the embroidered red lettering of  _Jaemin Na_ against canvas material just beneath the zipper. Renjun had done it for him when they’d first started dating. If Jaemin closes his eyes, he can see Renjun in front of him, in his room, nimble, pretty fingers working magic, brow furrowed beneath a fluffy fringe of hair, shrouding chestnut-coloured eyes. He takes the pencil case gingerly in his hands. ‘Thanks, Mr. Lee.’

‘No problem,’ Mr. Lee replies, head still down. ‘See you next class, Jaemin. Remember to submit your homework to the Google Classroom.’

‘Sure thing, sir. Enjoy the rest of your day.’ Jaemin looks back up at the stranger, who’s looking at Jaemin with some level of curiosity. Jaemin points at the door, hoping the guy will follow him out and explain what’s going on, and why the hell some hot dude (whose only shortcoming is that his head is the approximate shape of a bread loaf) is mooching around Jaemin’s English teacher’s classroom, in dead silence.

The stranger takes the hint. He’s right on Jaemin’s heels as he walks out of the room, as quickly as his feet can carry him.

Jaemin stops when he rounds the corner, sliding into an empty classroom and closing the door a little behind him. The blinds are drawn – the previous class was probably watching a movie or something. To his horror, the stranger, rather than trying to slide through the little opening Jaemin left,  _phases through the fucking door_.

‘What the  _fresh fuck_ ,’ Jaemin whispers.

‘How can you see me?’ the stranger asks. His head is titled to the side, brows furrowed. ‘Not even Yongie can see me.’

Jaemin feels a little faint. ‘Yongie?’ Who the fuck calls Mr. Lee  _Yongie_? Unless… ‘Sweet Jesus walking on Ribena, you’re Mr. Lee’s husband, aren’t you?’

The stranger, Mr. Lee’s  _life homie_ , his  _dearly broloved_ , his  _domestic dude_  flushes. ‘That’s me. Or I guess, that  _was_  me.’

‘Oh my God. You’re dead.’ Jaemin wonders if he’s going to wake up.

‘Yeah.’

‘Please tell me I’m dreaming.’

‘I wish we both were,’ Mr. Lee’s husband sighs.

Jaemin buries his face in his hands. He just wants Jeno and Renjun to come hug him and pat his hair. ‘Are you a ghost or something?’

‘I guess so?’ The ghost of Mr. Lee’s husband (Jaemin really needs to ask for the guy’s name. “The ghost of Mr. Lee’s husband” is nothing short of a whole mouthful) shrugs. ‘I’ve been dead for a couple of years now. Like, I stood over my own grave and everything. Pretty sure I’m dead, and had the time to come to terms with it, too.’

‘Before we continue,’ Jaemin says, hand raised to stop the conversation, ‘what do I call you?’ He rifles through his memory, wondering if it’s what he thinks he is. ‘Uh, Jeffrey?’

‘Oh God, no, that was a dumb nickname from high school. My name’s Jaehyun?’ says Jaehyun, and Jaemin wants to cry with relief at not having to think of Jaehyun as the ghost of Mr. Lee’s husband anymore.

‘Jaehyun Lee? I guess it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a bit about you before.’

‘It’s Lee-Jung, technically.’ Jaehyun looks dumbly at Jaemin. ‘Jaemin, right? For a kid who’s only spent like, five minutes tops around me, you’re taking this pretty well.’

‘I like to think I’m well-adjusted,’ Jaemin replies. He’s sweating profusely and has half a mind to book a session with the school counsellor later, but Jaehyun doesn’t need to know that. ‘Why are you here?’

Jaehyun gives Jaemin a wry smile. ‘Honestly? Because I wanted to stay.’

Jaemin has to move his bangs out of his eyes to hear that again. ‘What?’

‘I said what I said,’ laughs Jaehyun. The man’s face lights up at Jaemin’s slack-jawed expression. ‘What about it?’

‘I don’t know, I just didn’t expect anyone to willingly join the leagues of the undead,’ Jaemin really needs to book a therapy session at this point. ‘Are there even leagues of the undead?’

Jaehyun pouts (why the FUCK is a grown man pouting, Jaemin wants to cry). ‘I don’t think there’s leagues of us, but I’ve seen lots of ghost dogs around. Met a really nice guy named Yuta, too. We’ve met up a few times for coffee.’

‘Coffee?’

‘We kind of get to conjure food up for ourselves,’ Jaehyun’s clearly laughing at Jaemin. ‘It’s pretty lit.’

Jaemin takes a moment to collect himself. He takes a few deep breaths, eyes closed, before opening them again. Jaehyun’s still there, serene expression on his face. Jaemin looks at him closely, really looks at him, and realises that there’s something off about the man in front of him.

Upon inspection, Jaemin can tell that Jaehyun isn’t completely connected to this world. He’s a little translucent, for starters. Jaemin wonders how he didn’t notice it before, the thin paleness to Jaehyun’s skin. The man’s form is flickering, too, dimming when stray rays of sunlight hit him through the blinds over the windows. It makes sense that Jaemin’s never seen him in Mr. Lee’s classroom before, then. The teacher always opens the windows during his classes. Says the natural light is good for the students. Jaemin wonders why he doesn’t bother to keep the windows open when he’s alone, then. Some light would be good for the teacher, too. ‘How did you become a ghost?’ he wonders out loud. ‘Didn’t you want to go to Heaven or something? Move on?’

‘I could’ve,’ Jaehyun replies, ‘but I didn’t want to. Not yet.’

‘Why not?’

Jaehyun’s got that wistful smile on his face. The same one that he had when Jaemin first saw him in Mr. Lee’s room. He stretches out his hand and Jaemin takes it in his own, reflexively.

Jaemin can see it all.

He’s five years old, at some kind of Korean diasporic social event with his mother. He watches curiously as a boy that looks his age clings to his own mother, hiding behind her leg. He walks up to the boy, introduces himself. The boy smiles at him, nervously with sweet, big eyes, and Jaemin knows that this boy is special.

Then Jaemin’s eight years old, at his best friend’s house, watching in wonder as their mothers chat together as Jaemin’s mother drops him off. His best friend, the boy from three years ago, takes him by the hand, leading him to his room so they can play Bionicles together. He’s older than Jaemin by two years, Jaemin finds out, but he treats him like they’re the same age. He always lets Jaemin pick which Bionicle to play with first.

Now he’s ten years old, on his bike, riding around his suburb. His best friend is clinging to Jaemin’s back, shrieking as Jaemin pedals them down a hill. They stop at the foot of the hill and the older boy scrambles off the bike, arms wrapped around himself. He’s shaking, not for himself but for Jaemin, and Jaemin jumps out of his seat to bring the older boy into a hug. He smells like strawberries and fresh laundry.

Fifteen-year-old Jaemin is beginning to realise something. He doesn’t see his best friend as much anymore, the older boy studying more often than not. He lies on his bed in the evening, phone in hand, waiting desperately for a message, a sign, anything. There’s a knock on his window, suddenly, two gentle taps on the glass. Jaemin flies out of bed and looks out the window. He smiles, and opens it, inviting the older boy in. They talk through the night, and the older boy’s eyes sparkle brighter than the stars in the night sky.

Jaemin can’t hold himself back anymore, at seventeen years old. They’re lying on the couch together, watching a movie his best friend put on to distract Jaemin from the stress of senior school. The movie’s forgotten in exchange for the taste of his best friend’s lips, a hint of chocolate and strawberry lip balm, the little gasps he makes as Jaemin sucks marks into his collarbones. Jaemin can feel the warmth of his body pressed against his own, hands trailing lower and lower before the older boy catches him by the wrists. He looks into the eyes of his best friend (boyfriend, now?), dark pupils blown, watches his kiss-swollen lips say, quietly,  _Not yet. You’re not, we’re not, ready yet._  Jaemin asks  _Yet?_  and the older boy reaches up to pull Jaemin down by the drawstrings of his hoodie, kissing him sweetly, smiling against his lips, mouthing  _later, my love, later._  Jaemin thinks, what’s another year, maybe two, of sweet kisses and warm embraces in exchange for a lifetime?

At twenty-one years old, Jaemin’s bent on a knee, a thin jewellery box popped open. His boyfriend’s covering his mouth, those pretty eyes of his wide in shock.  _It’s not a ring,_  Jaemin finds himself saying, grinning,  _but at least if I do this, we can match_. Jaemin’s boyfriend starts crying, right in the middle of their bedroom, still wearing his Elmo boxers. Jaemin’s never wanted someone more than he does now. He laughs as he clips the pendant around his now-fiancé’s neck, the older man still blubbering,  _I knew something was up when there were_ flowers _, you made such a fancy dinner, how did you even make macarons without me knowing?_ , kissing him gently on the cheek in an attempt to console him. His fiancé takes the other necklace out of the box with trembling hands, needing about three attempts to fix the clasp in place around Jaemin’s neck. Then, whilst Jaehyun lounges on the bed, his fiancé (fiancé, fiancé, fiancé, the thought of it makes Jaemin’s heart soar) goes back to writing student reports.

Twenty-two-year-old Jaemin is standing underneath a floral arch, on one of the grass lawns beneath the Harbour Bridge. He’s in a stiffly pressed black suit, tie a soft blue, palms sweaty as he tries not to make awkward eye contact with the officiator (who, by the way, is doing his best to give Jaemin comforting smiles, but Jaemin’s paranoid mind is going a mile a minute and is interpreting the gesture as an evil grin). The tension melts away when he sees his fiancé. His hair is pushed up from his forehead, dressed in a pure white suit and baby pink dress shirt and tie, looking like an angel, at the other end of the carpet rolled out on the lawn. The rest of the world fades away until the love of the life reaches his arms. They don’t even get to the vows before they’re kissing. Jaemin doesn’t need a gold ring or an officiator to want to be with him forever, but he supposes, as they continue with the ceremony, a little flushed and breathless, that marriage is a nice gesture. Anything for his husband.

Jaemin’s twenty-three when it ends. An argument over late nights spent at work, his husband teary, glasses clutched in his hands and they fight,  _do you even care about me anymore?_ Jaemin’s panicking, desperately trying to fix things without giving anything away, he just wanted to surprise his husband with something special, longer hours were the only way to get them more money so he could take them back to Korea to see family for the first time in years, heart shattering as the only man he’s ever had eyes for snaps  _Well, if you’re never going to be around, I don’t want to see you again, anyways._  Storming out of the apartment, in tears. Forgetting how dangerous crossing the road on the hill is at night.

Jaehyun lets go of Jaemin’s hand. Jaemin stumbles back, bumping into the desk behind him. ‘I won’t show you the rest, kid. It hurt like a bitch, though.’

‘That was you. That was your, those were your –’

‘They were my memories, yes.’

‘And that other guy, your friend, no, boyfriend?’

‘Friend, boyfriend, fiancé, husband. Take your pick, kid, he’s all of them and more.’

Jaemin buries his face in his hands, groaning. ‘That was  _Mr. Lee_.’

Jaehyun laughs, and it’s such a sad sound. ‘It is. It’ll always be him.’

‘Dude, that was fucking  _wild_. I was  _you_.’ Jaemin shudders. ‘Oh my god, I made out with my  _teacher_  on the  _ugliest couch I’ve ever seen_.’

‘You do know that was actually me, right?’ Jaehyun pauses. ‘You’re alright?’

‘Yeah, I’m alright, just a bit of a shock.’ Jaemin pinches the skin inside his wrist, feeling more like himself again. ‘God, I’m so sorry, Jaehyun.’

‘It’s alright, Jaemin,’ Jaehyun sits on the table beside him, leaning back on his palms as he turns a little to face Jaemin properly. ‘I came to terms with it. I had to.’ Jaemin doesn’t know what to say. Clearly it shows, because Jaehyun waves it off. The ghost’s eyes are kind. ‘It’s really alright, kid. You see now why I had to come back?’

‘You don’t want to leave him.’

‘I don’t want to, because I did that night. And I regretted it even before that damn car hit me.’

Jaemin takes a seat atop the table opposite Jaehyun. Takes another deep breath. ‘Can anyone else see you?’

‘You’re the first person I’ve ever met that can.’

‘Do you…’ Jaemin wonders what he should be saying. He can’t just walk away from this now, now that he knows too much. ‘Are you alright if I tell my boyfriends?’

‘Boyfriends?’ Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

Jaemin rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.’ He wonders what Renjun and Jeno are doing now. He slides his phone out of his pocket and almost pales at the number of missed call notifications on the screen. ‘And I think I should go see them, actually.’

‘You do that, Jaemin.’ Jaehyun reaches out to ruffle his hair, and his hand is cool against the crown of Jaemin’s head. ‘Treasure the time you have with them.’

‘No need to get so gloomy, old man,’ Jaemin sighs, but there’s something about Jaehyun’s words that resonates with him. After seeing the snippets of Jaehyun’s life, it’s all too clear to him how quickly things can go wrong. How quickly life goes by.

They stand up together, walking out of the classroom. Jaemin walks Jaehyun to Mr. Lee’s room, where Jaemin assumes he’ll sit there, maybe reading an Agatha Christie book (Jaemin sees them on the floor a lot, behind Mr. Lee’s desk, the teacher mumbling to himself how the hell they always end up on the ground. Guess he knows why, now) until school ends and Mr. Lee takes the bus home.

It’s weird, Jaemin thinks, how Jaehyun disappears every time they pass a window in the hallway. Jaemin would think he was turning insane if Jaehyun didn’t somehow make sense to him. The ghost makes sense in a way that explains how the Smartboard in Mr. Lee’s classroom magically begins to work without someone having to hold the AVI cord in place, something Mr. Lee usually has to do. Or in the way that a cup that Mr. Lee had almost knocked off the desk, full of hot coffee, had magically stopped about five centimetres from the edge of the desk, before quickly sliding back onto the table. Mr. Lee and Jaemin had stared at it, for a moment, before Mr. Lee went back to typing on his laptop.

Mr. Lee’s fallen asleep when they get there, slumped over his desk, pen still in hand. The air conditioner’s on, the English teacher shivering a little in his sleep. Jaehyun walks over to Mr. Lee’s desk, picking up the aircon remote, turning it off. Jaemin watches as he walks behind Mr. Lee, taking the coat hung over the back of his chair and draping it over the teacher’s shoulders. He leans over, kissing Mr. Lee gently on his temple, before walking over to the blinds.

Turning to Jaemin, Jaehyun waves. ‘See you tomorrow, Jaemin.’ The ghost takes the blind cord into his hand, and pulls them open.

Jaehyun disappears in the sunlight.

 

…

 

‘Babe, that’s pretty wild.’

It’s after school, at one of the cafés around Jeno’s house. Jaemin’s leaning back against Renjun, letting the older boy play with his hair. Jeno is staring at Jaemin with wide eyes, mouth open around the straw of his mixed berry frappe.  ‘I know, and I thought I was going insane, but it makes a lot of sense.’

‘Are you sure it was Mr. Lee’s husband?’ Jeno asks, brows furrowed, looking adorably confused. ‘Like, did you know what he looked like beforehand?’

‘No,’ Jaemin replies, a little thoughtful now, ‘but it did feel right.’

Renjun takes out his phone. ‘One way to check. What’s Mr. Lee’s husband’s name again?’

‘Jaehyun Lee-Jung.’

‘Alright.’ Renjun loops his arms around Jaemin, so that he can see what’s happening on his boyfriend’s phone. Renjun has Facebook open, and Jaemin takes the phone gingerly from his boyfriend’s hands. He taps on the second search result. ‘It’s this guy, definitely.’

Jeno scoots over to look at Renjun’s phone as well. ‘Woah.’

Jaehyun’s Facebook profile is, apart from a multitude of R.I.P. posts, pretty normal looking. The Jaehyun that smiles so widely from his profile picture looks a thousand times more vibrant than the Jaehyun that Jaemin met in Mr. Lee’s room. He can see the colour of Jaehyun’s eyes here, a warm, deep brown, almost black. Dark chocolate eyes. He’s smiling into the camera, dressed casually in a tank top, dyed-toffee coloured hair messy. Mr. Lee leaning into him, arm slung around the teacher’s shoulder. Mr. Lee’s looking up at Jaehyun, clearly, obviously adoring.

It hurts to look at.

‘They look really cute together,’ Renjun murmurs, and Jaemin can hear the frown in his voice.

‘They look so happy, too,’ Jeno leans his head into Jaemin’s shoulder. ‘God, I wonder how Mr. Lee feels.’

‘Like shit, probably,’ says Renjun, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Jeno’s head. ‘I don’t even want to begin to imagine what it’d be like to lose you guys.’

Jaemin doesn’t want to imagine, either. But he can’t help it. He wonders what it’d be like, to wake up without Jeno’s texts, because Jeno always wakes up before him and Renjun because their boyfriend’s a whole student athlete stereotype. He wonders what it’d be like to not sit with Renjun on the bus to school, the older boy always saving Jaemin a seat, no matter how packed or empty the bus is (to the chagrin of the public. Renjun doesn’t give a shit –  _The rank-ass private school boys always single-handedly take up the four-seaters, anyways,_  he argues.  _They should stand the fuck up first._  One of the reasons why Jaemin loves him). Wonders what it’d be like to forget the feel of Jeno’s calloused finger’s linked with his own, to lose the soft kisses Renjun presses against his cheek.

He swallows, shaking the thoughts out of his head. Even trying to imagine it makes Jaemin feel like he’s bleeding out.

Jeno swings his legs over Jaemin’s lap. ‘I really love you guys. Remember that, alright?’

Jaemin feels like he’s melting. ‘Of course, baby,’ Renjun sighs, taking Jeno’s hand in his, ‘love you too.’

‘Love you more than I can say.’ Jaemin can’t help the feeling swelling in his chest, the strange desire to cry that bubbles up in his throat. He passes Renjun’s phone back to him, marvelling at the warmth of Renjun’s fingers when they brush against his. ‘Thanks for believing me too, guys.’

Renjun scoffs. ‘Of course we’d believe you.’

‘You know,’ Jeno muses, ‘it really explains that one time Cameron fell over in English.’

‘I thought it was because the imbecile leaves his laces untied?’ Renjun has a brow arched in question.

‘Nah.’ Jeno shakes his head, sagely. ‘I do Taekwondo, yeah? To me, it didn’t look like he tripped. It looked like someone performed a takedown on him. Like, I thought I was just high on Gatorade that day so I didn’t say anything, but I swear he was like, in the air for a good three seconds.’

Jaemin thinks back to that particular English lesson. Cameron O’Grady, resident class clown with a sense of humour based upon thinly-veiled racism. He’d said something about Mr. Lee’s “gay-ass” voice, picking up on and mocking the slight accent that slipped out when the teacher got nervous. He was sauntering his way out of the classroom, probably on the way to the bathroom after he’d completed his mission of bringing the English teacher close to tears, cheered on by his group of friends, when it happened. Just before Renjun was about to throw his copy of the Tempest at his back, Jeno barely restraining him, Cameron had tripped over.

It didn’t really look like he’d tripped over. No one flies into the air, body horizontal to the ground, landing backward _s_  on their  _shoulders_  when they trip. Since that day, Cameron hasn’t said a word in Mr. Lee’s class. Jaemin thinks that it was a win for the gays. ‘Hey, Junnie, does Jaehyun’s profile say anything about him doing martial arts?’

Renjun scrolls through Jaehyun’s profile, peeping his shared photos. ‘Yup. Got this sweet picture of the guy having a purple belt in karate.’

‘Dude, that’s  _lit_. Nana, can you tell him thanks?’ Jeno says, legs bouncing a little in excitement.

Jaemin can’t help but smile at his boyfriend’s puppyish enthusiasm. Like, the boy’s eyes are sparkling with glee. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging a thousand kilometres a minute. Understandably so, too – it’s not every day that you find out that your sweet, kind English teacher’s husband’s ghost performed a takedown on the resident class homophobic racist. ‘Of course, babe.’ And then he wonders… ‘Hey, maybe I can get you two to meet him tomorrow?’

Jeno beams, bright as a Vivid lightshow. ‘ _Hell yeah!_ ’

‘I mean,’ Renjun sighs, ‘I’m pretty disappointed that I didn’t get to put Cameron in his place myself, but I guess I still should go thank Mr. Lee-Jung.’

Jaemin is so in love.

 

…

 

Jaehyun’s watching Mr. Lee eat a depressingly unsubstantial salad the next time Jaemin sees him.

The ghost looks like he’s watching  _Hamilton: The Musical_. He’s glowing in the dim, artificial light of the room, eyes full of wonder and hand raised as if to reach out and touch Mr. Lee’s face as the English teacher chews, miserably. It’s like Mr. Lee’s the most spectacular thing Jaehyun has ever seen. Jaemin wonders if he looks like that when he looks at Jeno and Renjun.

His two boyfriends are right behind him as he knocks on the door. ‘Hey, Mr. Lee.’

Mr. Lee hurriedly swallows a mouthful of salad. ‘Oh, Jaemin. Nice to see you again. Did you want to ask something about the next assessment?’

Jaemin shifts on the balls of his feet. ‘Um, not really no. I think I left something in the room again?’

Mr. Lee laughs, and Jaehyun breaks into a grin at the sound, looking so utterly in love that Jaemin really just wants to cry. ‘Getting forgetful are we, Mr. Na?’

‘A little,’ Jaemin replies. ‘Lucky I have these two to keep me in check.’ He gestures over his shoulder, to where Renjun and Jeno are desperately trying to look casual, but instead are looking more and more awkward as they attempt to posture themselves.

‘Young love,’ Mr. Lee sighs, over another forkful of depressing salad. ‘I remember when I was your age. It’s a wonderful thing, boys. A wonderful, beautiful thing.’ There’s that distant look on the English teacher’s face again, and Jaehyun looks even more heartbroken than Jaemin feels. Mr. Lee looks over at Jaemin, Jeno and Renjun, tilting his head as he seems to scan them with a piercing gaze. Jaemin hadn’t realised how large his eyes were. He feels like he’s being dissected. ‘Be good to one another, will you?’ And then the teacher turns back to his salad, poking at it sadly before giving up on it, pushing the container away. ‘Feel free to look around the room.’

Jaemin feels a little rattled. He wonders what Mr. Lee sees in the three of them. Does he see the time he spent with Jaehyun, climbing through windows? Does he see bike rides over the hill? Jaemin pretends to take a look around, tugging Jaehyun’s sleeve as he passes him, pretending to look behind the dictionaries.

‘Sorry, Sir,’ Jaemin says after about half a minute, ‘Probably forgot my stuff in the Science labs. Thanks, though.’

‘No problem,’ Mr. Lee looks back up to smile at him. ‘See you fourth period, boys.’ He waves at Jaemin, extending the gesture to Jeno and Renjun, who are still waiting in the doorway.

Jaemin waves back. ‘See you.’

He can hear Mr. Lee muttering the lines of some poetry as he walks out of the room. The teacher’s voice is soft, and Jaemin looks back to see the teacher with a pen in hand, underlining the lines he’s reading out loud. ‘ _And all men kill the things they love…_ ’ It’s painful to watch, to hear.

Jaemin jogs out of the room, looking down the hall to find an empty classroom. The same one he and Jaehyun went into yesterday is empty yet again, so he ushers his boyfriends into the room before closing the door.

‘Jaehyun?’ Jaemin watches him walk towards one of the tables in front of Jaemin’s boyfriends. The ghost pulls out a chair, sitting on it, and Renjun and Jeno gape when they see the chair move.

‘Present,’ Jaehyun chirps.

Jeno takes off his prescription glasses, wiping the lenses before putting them back on again. ‘Renjunnie, did you just see that?’

‘Lemme move my bangs,’ Renjun whispers. Jaemin wants to laugh – Renjun’s fringe rests in line with his eyebrows.

‘Hey, Jaehyun, are you able to let them see you?’ Jaemin watches the ghost shrug. ‘Well, we could try?’

Jaehyun stretches. ‘Guess we could.’ He closes his eyes.

Jaemin takes in the sight of Jaehyun clasping his hands together, bringing them to his forehead. ‘I think he’s meditating right now, guys.’

‘He’s meditating, guys.’ Renjun whispers.

‘He’s died,’ Jeno whispers back.

‘He’s already dead,’ Jaemin hisses, pinching his boyfriends’ cheeks. ‘Now shut up and give him some peace and quiet.'

Jaehyun sits there, pressing his hands to his forehead.

‘You see anything?’ Jaemin asks his boyfriends.

Jeno shakes his head. ‘Sorry, nothing,’ Renjun does the same.

‘Maybe we need to try something different.’ Jaemin wonders what they  _should_  try – he hasn’t exactly been in this situation before. ‘Uh, Jaehyun, do you wanna, um… hold my hand?’ It could work. Jaehyun was able to pass some of himself to Jaemin when they were touching, maybe Jaemin can try do the same back.

Jaehyun opens his eyes. ‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Well then, give me your hand.’ Jaemin takes Jaehyun’s outstretched palm, looking back at his boyfriends. There’s still no change in their expression. ‘Hey, Jaehyun, how did you get me to see your memories?’

‘I think I just thought about them myself, and it felt like something was building up in me. When I tried to release whatever that was, I guess it just moved on to you.’

Jaemin thinks he can work with that. ‘Okay, let me try giving you some energy or something.’

He’s struck, suddenly, with the absurdity of the situation. He’s standing in an empty classroom during his lunch break, holding hands with his English teacher’s dead husband whilst his boyfriends watch on in blind faith. It’s a weird feeling – he feels horribly awkward and overly emotionally invested, but strangely blessed at the same time.

Well, no point in dwelling over it. Jaemin closes his eyes, trying to focus energy somewhere inside him. Stomach? Diaphragm? He has no fuckin’ clue. He thinks about that one time he went up on the hall stage in Year Four to perform for the school talent show – he remembers that he’d never felt so visible. But that was when he met Renjun and Jeno for the first time, really, truly talked to the two of them. Before that, Donghyuck had been Jaemin’s only friend. But after he’d gotten down from that stage, Renjun and Jeno had been at the foot of the stairs, congratulating him and wiping his scared tears like it was second nature.

Something’s building in him, thrumming in his chest alongside his heartbeat. He can feel Jaehyun’s palm tingling in his.

And then he releases.

‘Holy fucking  _shit_ ,’ Jeno gasps.

Jaemin opens his eyes. Jaehyun looks almost exactly the same as he did before, just more amused. He’s taking in Jeno and Renjun’s slack-jawed expressions, Renjun pulling out a chair to slump into himself.

‘He just, like,’ Jeno babbles. ‘Dude. You popped out of friggin’  _nowhere_.’

Jaehyun grins at him. ‘Thank your boyfriend, kid.’

Renjun rubs his eyes, blinking a few times for good measure. ‘Oh my God, Jeno, our boyfriend’s Jennifer Love Hewitt.’

Jeno blinks. ‘Who?’

‘ _Ghost Whisperer?_ ’ Jaehyun whistles. ‘Man, I used to watch that show all the time with Taeyong.’

Jaemin’s feeling a little faint. He pulls a seat out next to Renjun, leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. ‘Give me a second, guys,’ he mumbles. ‘Just need to rest a little after that.’

‘Are you going to be okay?’ Jeno’s by Jaemin’s side in an instant. ‘Do you want me to run and get you some water, babe?’

Renjun strokes Jaemin’s hair, trailing a hand down to scratch gently beneath Jaemin’s neck in the way he loves it. ‘I’ll be fine,’ Jaemin says, at the exact same time Renjun says ‘Go, Jeno, I’ll take care of him in the meantime.’

Jaemin feels himself get lost in Renjun’s soft touches. Renjun’s got nice hands, dainty and skilled. Jaemin’s seen those hand make masterpieces. Those hands are taking him apart piece by piece right now. God, he could just fall asleep like this.

Jaehyun coughs, loudly, ruining the moment. Jaemin’s eyes flutter open, and he sees the ghost grinning down at him. ‘Sorry. I was going to die from the cuteness.’ His grin turns wistful. ‘I wonder if this is what having kids would’ve been like.’

Jaehyun looks eerily  _right_  for a ghost. Enough like a person that it sometimes, momentarily, slips his mind that Jaehyun isn’t alive anymore, that he can phase through walls and play with ghost puppies (does this explain every time Jaemin’s seen a dog at night and his friends tell him to stop fucking around because joking about seeing dogs isn’t cool because it gets their hopes up?) and conjure up Ghost Coffee on a whim.

Like he’s done right now – there’s a cup of something in Jaehyun’s hand, the ghost sipping on it as if in thought.

‘You wanted kids?’ Jaemin watches Jaehyun’s face fall, lowering the coffee cup to his lap.

‘I think so,’ Jaehyun looks down at his coffee. He looks like he’s searching for the meaning of life in a coffee cup lid. ‘No. I know so. I did want kids, pretty badly. In a few years time, after Taeyong and I were financially stable enough for it. I just try to convince myself it wasn’t something I’ve dreamt of forever.’

‘Why not?’ Jaemin wonders why he asks. He knows the answer, thrumming in the air of the room, between Jaehyun and him, remnants of the links between them.

Jaehyun takes another sip of his coffee. ‘It would be one less regret.’

One less regret. One less dream. Jaemin can see little snippets of Jaehyun’s memories when he focuses on them, a little blurry but clear enough to tug on the heartstrings. He can feel Mr. Lee’s hand in his, lying in bed under the covers. The lights are off, and they’re talking, quietly.  _You’d make the best father, Yongie._

_Are you sure?_

_Of course I am._

_What if I poison the baby? What if I drop them on their head or something? Oh god, what if I have to teach our kid when they grow up?_

_Calm down! You worry too much._

_I’d like to think I worry just enough, thank you._

_Though… I think that’s a sign that you’ll be a great father. It means you care already. And that’s the first step. You’re perfect, Taeyongie._

_You too, you know. You always take care of me, Jae. I don’t know where I’d be without you._

_Well, you get to know where you are with me, love._

_I still get butterflies when you call me that._

_Call you what?_

_Love._

Jaemin feels a tug, head turning instinctively to Jaehyun. Jaehyun’s smirking, shaking his head teasingly. ‘Hey, no snooping into my memories without permission.’

‘I was doing that?’ Jaemin didn’t realise that was how it worked. ‘Shit. Didn’t realise I was,’ Jaemin flails his hands in the air, unsure how to word what he wants to say next. ‘Violating your privacy?’

‘Don’t worry about it, kid. Looks like you didn’t realise what you were doing.’ Jaehyun cocks his head to the side, flickering as the room brightens a little, likely the effect of the sun coming out from behind clouds. ‘All this seems like second nature to you, honestly.’

Jaemin thinks Jaehyun’s probably right. Navigating, acknowledging this ability of his comes too easily. ‘Maybe it is.’ He wonders how he even has these powers. Are they hereditary? Is he just personally sensitive to ghosts? Was he bitten by a spider at the last excursion he went on?

‘Mr. Lee-Jung.’ It’s Renjun, voice soft and clear in the dim light of the room, snapping Jaemin out of his reverie. ‘I wanted to ask you something.’ Jaemin turns to look at his boyfriend’s profile, marvelling at the slope of his nose. ‘Did you ever perform a takedown on a student in our class?’

Jaemin bursts out laughing. He’d almost forgotten that Renjun had wanted to thank Jaehyun.

Jaehyun has the audacity to look shy. ‘Hypothetically, if I did, what would you say to that?’

It’s at that moment Jeno decides to burst back into the room, carrying three school bags – one on his back, one on his front and the third slung over a shoulder. He’s carrying two bottles of water, a Lipton Iced Tea and Gatorade. ‘I’m back, guys!’

Renjun shakes his head, waving Jeno over to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek. ‘Thanks for bringing our bags up, sweetheart.’

‘A thoughtful  _king_ ,’ Jaemin sighs, as he plucks the bottle of iced tea out of Jeno’s arms. ‘God, I love you so much.’

‘Now sit down,’ Renjun says, Jeno obediently taking a seat next to him, ‘Mr. Lee-Jung’s going to tell us if he was the one who  _demolished_  Cameron.’

Jeno beams like an iPhone on maximum brightness at 1am. ‘Dude, did you really? Adopt me.’

‘Well, if I did, hypothetically,’ Jaehyun pauses to drink the rest of his coffee, ‘I would have hypothetically picked him up, hypothetically told him if he messed with my husband again I’d change all his grades to a fail, and hypothetically slammed him into the floor.’

Renjun’s face breaks into a smile. ‘Impressive, Mr. Lee-Jung.’

‘Impressive? Dude, that’s  _cool as_.’ Jeno’s looks like he’s found the Holy Grail. ‘Can I be a cool husband like that when we grow up, guys?’

‘You’re not cool, baby, you’re just adorable.’ Renjun laughs at Jeno’s noises of protests, silencing him with a kiss to his palm.

‘Wait.’ Jaemin waves down his boyfriends’ display of affection. ‘Wait, like, what do we do now?’

‘What do you mean?’ Jaehyun’s looking at him intently, trying to figure out what Jaemin’s implying.

‘I mean like, if I can get you seen by these guys,’ Jaemin says, ‘can’t I get Mr. Lee to see you too?’

It’s like Jaehyun changes completely at the mention of the English teacher. Instantly he softens, and it’s like he glows at the thought of the man. It’s like the rest of the world fades away. Jaemin’s tempted to try see what Jaehyun’s thinking of, but he holds himself back. Even when he does see Jaehyun’s memories, when he looks into his fantasies, he knows he doesn’t feel half as much as Jaehyun does.

The love Jaemin feels in those memories can’t hold a candle to the loves Jaemin feels right beside him.

‘I don’t know,’ Jaehyun says, slowly. ‘I want him to see me, and I miss talking to him but…’

‘But what? If I…’ Jaemin braces himself a little before continuing. ‘If I lost Jeno, or Renjun, and I got the chance to see them again, no consequences, I’d go for it. No matter how long it was, or how long it’d been, I’d jump at the chance.’

‘Aren’t things different, now that I’ve died?’ Jaehyun asks Jaemin, and there’s something pleading in his eyes. ‘I’ve been dead for years now, Jaemin. We should be finding a way to help Taeyong move on. I’m not here for myself. I just,’ Jaehyun sighs, running a hand through his hair, ‘I couldn’t bear it knowing he was so alone and miserable, and I can’t leave him alone knowing it’s my fault.’

‘Maybe closure could help?’ Renjun pipes up, elbows on his knees as he leans forward, resting his chin in his palms. ‘I feel like maybe if you talked to him, caught up and sorted stuff out, it’d be easier for the two of you?’

‘Maybe that’s why you’re still around, too,’ Jeno muses. ‘Could you just move on if you wanted to?’

‘I could. I can leave whenever I want. I could leave right now. But would you leave those two?’

Jeno bites his lip. ‘Never.’

It’s quiet, for a moment. Jaemin watches the look on Jaehyun’s face. ‘Once I go, I know I can’t come back. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see Taeyong again.’

 _Imagine_ , is left unsaid.  _Imagine if you were me_.

‘You’re alright like this, then?’ Jeno asks, after a little while. Jaemin observes the slope of his first love’s nose, crinkling in that little way it does when he’s thinking. The little black strands of hair that fall across his forehead, mundane but somehow otherworldly. Sometimes Jaemin forgets how strikingly beautiful Jeno is, features clean as if they were carved from stone. It’s a timeless beauty, unforgettable.

Jaehyun runs a hand through his hair. He looks tired, as tired as the dead can be. ‘For now, at least.’

For now, he says. For now. How long is now? Is it this instant, or a day, or longer? Regardless, time is not a concept that exists for the dead. Jaemin turns his eyes to Jaehyun, looking closely, deeper behind the veneer of humanity, and sees shattered bones, blood on asphalt. ‘You don’t belong here, anymore.’

‘I don’t,’ Jaehyun replies, smile wistful, fractured jaw twitching. ‘I really don’t.’

Jaemin reaches out to the remnants of a man. ‘So let’s take you home.’

 

…

 

Before that, though, Jaemin thinks he has something to do.

He catches Mark outside the school library, during one of the frees they share together. Jaehyun’s right behind him, pacing as Mark stumbles out of the library, arms laden with textbooks, bag unzipped. ‘Yo, Mark, you got a minute, bro?’

‘Uh, yeah?’ says Mark, eternally amicable. ‘What do you need?’

‘Just follow me,’ Jaemin says, keeping a casual smirk on his face, as not to belie the increasing panic he feels on the inside. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

They end up stopping in the shadowy stairwell beside the school car park, blissfully empty due to the main gates being closed for security reasons. Mark puts his books down on the ground, gingerly. ‘So, what did you want to show me?’

‘Oh, uh, just give me a minute.’ Jaemin  _prays_  that Mark won’t attempt to kill him after this. Sneaking a look at Jaehyun, who’s hovering around Mark with an expression so tender it’d make an amazing chicken parmigiana, he does his best to quietly indicate for Jaehyun to hold his hands again. He’d rather Mark still think him sane if anything went wrong, thank you very much. Jaehyun, thankfully, makes his way over to Jaemin’s side, taking his hands in his own. ‘Promise me you won’t freak out, though.’

‘Uh…’ says Mark, squinting his eyes, ‘sure?’

‘Perfect.’ Jaemin takes a deep breath. ‘I… wanted to ask you something.’

Mark gives Jaemin one of his usual sunny, dopey smiles. ‘Well, shoot, man. What else are friends for?’

‘It’s a bit of a personal question, though,’ Jaemin says. ‘Just warning you.’

The sunny expression on Mark’s face is clouding up a bit, now. ‘What’s this about, Jaemin? Did something happen, or…?’ He trails off, and Jaemin can see Mark assessing him, looking increasingly worried.

‘It’s about Jaehyun.’ Jaemin says finally, as he hears a dull  _slap_  coming from beside him, likely Jaehyun facepalming. ‘Wait, hear me out,’ Jaemin continues, hurriedly, as Mark turns pale. ‘Mark, I swear this isn’t as bad as it sounds.’

‘How did you find out his name? I never told you.’ Mark flinches away from Jaemin’s outstretched hand, taking a step back, arms coming up to circle himself.  _‘How do you know his name?’_

‘Just please, answer this one thing for me.’ Jaemin is  _praying_  he doesn’t completely implode this friendship for good. ‘If you could see him one more time, would you?’

‘Why the  _fuck_  are you asking me this?’ He’s angry. Of course he’s angry. Jaemin would be too, if out of nowhere one of his friends began to ask invasive questions about his family. Family might not always be picture-perfect, but for people like Jaemin, and of course, Mark, family’s always at least been private. ‘What the hell are you going to gain from this?’

‘Just answer it, Mark. Trust me, please, it’s better than it sounds.’

Mark takes a shuddering breath, and Jaemin hates himself for approaching him like this, for causing the rogue tears that are threatening to spill from Mark’s eyes. ‘You better have a good reason for this,’ Mark mutters. Then he clears his throat, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. ‘Of course I’d want to see him. I miss him. I’d want to see him once, if only to say goodbye properly.’ He takes another deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut with the movement. ‘I know he’s up there, somewhere, and he’s in a better place, but I’m still fucking selfish, alright? I never got to say goodbye, Jaemin. The last time I saw him was at a family dinner event, I could barely look up from the fucking  _card game_  I was playing to see him out the door. I couldn’t even pay attention to my own  _cousin_  over a  _fucking game_.’ A choked whine escapes Mark’s bitten lips. ‘And now he’s  _gone_.’

‘I remember that,’ Jaehyun says, quietly, beside Jaemin. ‘I remember seeing Mark, playing games with the rest of the family. He seemed happy. I didn’t want to disturb him. I loved to see the kid happy. I still do.’ And then, Jaehyun becomes quieter, impossibly so. ‘He called me his cousin from the moment Taeyong introduced him to me, even before Yong and I had gotten married. Said there was always a place in his family for me. Our family.’

Jaemin takes a step forward, the cloying feeling in his chest expanding as Mark shrinks from his advance. ‘He wouldn’t have blamed you, Mark. It’s not your fault.’ Jaemin’s heart is breaking, seeing Mark like this. How much has Mark kept from him, from their friends, about his life? Jaemin wonders if Mark hadn’t trusted them enough, if he hadn’t felt close enough to them to talk about this. It’s obviously Mark’s first time talking about this, if the trembling of his fist, the frustrated tears that threaten to spill over are any indicator. But maybe it’s not a matter of trust. Maybe Mark was just never ready to talk about it – their little group had only really come together in the last year or so, after all. Mark was never obligated to tell Jaemin and their friends anything.

But God, does Jaemin wish Mark had let them share his pain, if only just for a moment, if it could make things easier, if only for a little while.

‘But it feels like it, Nana. It really feels like it.’

Jaehyun’s hovering around Mark, palm hovering over Mark’s shoulder, afraid to touch. ‘Jaemin,  _please_ ,’ the man says, voice choked-up.

Jaemin closes his eyes, wondering how the hell he’s going to pull this off. How did he do it last time? He vaguely remembers using some kind of weird, spiritual positive energy. Something to do with visibility, and good memories.

Oh. Okay. He’s got this. He’s got a fuzzy, slowly clearing memory from a year and a half ago, watching one of the competitive debates that the school was hosting. It was where he’d first met who he knew to be Mark Lee, assigned to the negative team. The topic had been  _Should gay couples be allowed to adopt?_ , and Jaemin had been watching, with some level of horror, fully expecting the clean-shaven, baby faced good Christian boy of the grade to drive the negative team to an unarguable, homophobic win.

And then Mark Lee had pulled a snapback out of nowhere, donned it like armour, and began to perform mumble rap to the shocked crowd, in favour of gay rights, as if he were the Korean gay Macklemore.

(Sometimes, when they’re in the mood, Jaemin and the rest of their friends will perform some of Mark’s iconic lines from that afternoon, such as  _Hey, it’s okay to be gay, yuh / Bitch I’m also gay, yuh / God makes no mistakes, yuh / I’m actually bi, but anyways, yuh_.)

Needless to say, that was the day that he and Mark became friends. It felt good, to see someone out there, even someone he barely knew at the time, shouting out for the world to hear who they were, uncompromising, proud of their identity. It’s still hard for Jaemin to be that proud of himself, to be able to throw expectations away to be himself. He’d wanted to be like Mark so badly that day. It was impossible not to want to be Mark’s friend, with the confident air he’d carried, even if his audacity had lost his team the debate. But somehow, no one was able to fault him for what he’d done. And Jaemin had gained a friend, that day.

He thinks Jaehyun would be proud.

Suddenly, there it is. That tell-tale tug at some deep part of his soul, moving outwards. Bursting, through the seams of his body.

‘Oh my God,’ Jaemin hears Mark whisper, a choked sound. ‘Jaemin,  _please_  tell me this isn’t some kind of fucked up nightmare. Please tell me you’re seeing this.’

Jaemin opens his eyes. Jaehyun’s turned to Mark, a soft, sad smile on his face. ‘Hey there, lil’ guy.’

Mark falls back against the wall of the stairwell. ‘ _Hyung?_ ’

‘ _Minhyung-ah. You’ve grown up well._ ’ It takes a moment for Jaemin to realise they’re speaking in Korean, the language familiar enough to him that he understands, but not so much that he finds it comfortable to produce it himself. ‘ _How’ve you been?_ ’

‘ _Good. I’m good. But_ …’ Mark slaps himself in the face, once, Jaemin gasping at the suddenness of it. Mark hisses in pain, shaking his head, pinching the inside of his wrist before looking up, slowly, to meet Jaehyun’s gaze again. ‘ _Hyung, you’re supposed to be_ dead _.’_

Jaehyun laughs at this, a sound devoid of all the mirth it ought to carry. ‘ _Minhyung-ah, your hyung is definitely dead_.’

‘This is a dream right?’ Mark asks Jaemin, almost frantic, back to English now. ‘I’m dreaming? I’m not just seeing…’ He waves an arm in Jaehyun’s direction. ‘You know. The ghost of the guy I idolised for  _years_  before he died.’

‘I’m just some guy now, Mark?’ Jaehyun says, teasing, eyes teary. ‘And I can remember how enthusiastic you were about calling me family, lil’ cousin.’

Mark stumbles forward, throwing himself almost desperately at Jaehyun. Jaemin breathes a sigh of relief when Jaehyun manages to catch him, and Mark sobs. ‘Oh  _God_ , you’re actually here. I never got to say goodbye, you  _asshole_. You just  _left_ us, and I got the news two weeks before my  _birthday_  and you were supposed to be  _there_  for me, what am I going to tell Taeyong, why did you have to  _leave_  us?’ Each stressed word is punctuated by Mark beating Jaehyun’s chest with a balled-up hand, weaker and weaker each time, before the boy is sobbing, crying in Jaehyun’s arms.

‘I’m sorry, Markie. I should have been more careful,’ whispers Jaehyun, into Mark’s hair. ‘I’m sorry, I missed you.’

Jaemin feels like he’s intruding, watching the two of them like this. That, and a cloying sense of loss, second-hand. This man could have been at Mark’s birthday, that year. At Mark’s birthdays, all the years after that. He could have been able to go to the musical that Mark starred in. He could have been able to watch Mark’s graduation, next year. He could have been there, his mere existence comforting, warm, welcoming, alive.

It’s hard to watch Mark like this, Jaemin thinks. Then he thinks that perhaps it’s not about him. Maybe seeing Mark, sobbing in Jaehyun’s arms, is supposed to be hard – Mark lost family, after all. Maybe, Jaemin wonders, he shouldn’t be watching this at all.

‘I’ll give you guys some time alone,’ Jaemin finds himself saying, and  _oh_ , there’s salt water running down his cheeks too, a burn at the corner of his eyes that he’d not quite noticed. ‘Take as much time as you need.’ He wipes the tears from his face, hurriedly. ‘Oh and, just a heads up, only us, Renjun and Jeno can see him, right now. Just in case you guys end up going somewhere more public. Don’t want people looking at you weird in the streets, is all.’

Mark looks up, takes a deep breath, shuddering. ‘Thank you.’

Jaemin turns to Jaehyun, dipping into a grandiose bow. ‘Floor’s yours, Mr. Lee-Jung,’

‘Don’t mind if I do, Mr. Na.’

Jaemin ascends the stairwell, exiting, closing the door on cheery, tearful chatter; but he still comes back not too long after with a piece of paper and some tape, sticking a makeshift DO NOT ENTER sign on the door. He steps back, admiring his handiwork.

It’s not quite perfect, but good all the same.

 

…

 

Whispers, in the wind, as he walks home. Brushes, gentle tugs at his sleeve. Begging, begging. He closes his hands into fists.

Jaemin doesn’t want to be dramatic, or ungrateful, but all this ghost-whispering stuff is weighing down on him a bit. He’s in awe of his new-found powers, happy at the closure he can bring with them (though he’s probably got a bit to work on with his dramatic reveals or something) but no matter how great it might be, it’s exhausting.

He walks through the doorway of his house after unlocking the door, pulling and pushing the handle a little so the key can fit in right. The house is empty, as usual. Jaemin makes a beeline for his room. He’ll feel better, he thinks, as he crosses the threshold into his bedroom. He’ll feel better, in a while. It’s a lot to adjust to; it’s only been a few days, after all. Jaemin feels like he’ll be a bit more settled in his skin after another half week or so, but the amount of things that have been revealed to him in these last three, four days have really pulled the most out of him. The energy’s sucked out of him, with every little push of something that lets Jaehyun become visible.

Whispers, in the hallway. Whispers in the walls.

He’s scared, honestly, a little bit. He doesn’t know what the consequences of this are.

Jaemin’s normally not like this, he realises, shucking off his school jacket, throwing it over the back of the chair that’s pushed flush against the study desk by his window. But then, again, maybe it’s because this isn’t normal.

Normal is sunny days and clear minds, quiet walks home, quieter room. Normal is Jeno’s smile, the gloss of his hair, the cherry-flavoured gloss swept across his lips that Jaemin can taste when they kiss. Normal is the roll of Renjun’s eyes, the flutter of his lashes against Jaemin’s neck, mouth against his shoulder with just a hint of teeth. Normal is homework, is the cold wind at the train station he passes through to get home, is loosely-tied laces and the sun setting not too long after he arrives home in the winter.

Normal, Jaemin thinks, is anime marathons when he’s tired of the world.

And so he makes normal, bundling himself under the covers, laptop balanced on his chest, watching the hours away. There’s nothing wrong with shutting the rest of the world out, sometimes. Nothing wrong with taking some time for yourself, Jaemin thinks, curled beneath blankets, nothing wrong with making that time. Nothing wrong with letting time slip away.

Maybe he lacks a sense of urgency, he wonders, watching the 436th episode of Naruto. Maybe he should brush the strange sense of lethargy in his bones aside and get up and do something productive. Maybe he should get cracking on that homework he has due tomorrow. Maths, third period. The longest period of the day, the higher likelihood the teacher’s going to check his work and chew him out for having it incomplete.

What _is_ productive, anyways? The creation of tangible output, something to hold, to be seen? Quantifiable, accumulative, to be given away and shared? Not always, Jaemin thinks, as he watches Shikimaru having some kind of edgy dialogue with Pain. Not always. Maybe some of the best things you can make for yourself come from within you, a safe haven in your own body. Active comforts, created for one’s self and one’s self alone.

He needs that now, just that time for himself, alone in a room. It’s okay to be alone, to take the time for yourself, he thinks. It’s okay to be alone, sometimes, because he isn’t lonely, not in the slightest. He thinks he’s quite loved, if the gentle buzzing of his phone in his pocket is any indicator, the photos on the walls, the plush toy nestled in the crook of his arm, a gift given with two kisses, one on either cheek. He’s loved, and it’s because he’s loved that he’ll never be lonely, because there’s always something to come back to. The ones you love will always be with you, resting in the little spaces they always do in your heart. No matter where they are, no matter where they might be.

 

…

 

There’s a method to the madness that follows.

Jaemin finds himself revealing Jaehyun to Donghyuck, Chenle and Jisung, all in one go, the ghost popping into sight with a flourish of jazz hands (and a deafening scream from Chenle, which had Mr. Lee rushing into the classroom, panicked, leaving Mark to hustle the teacher out of the classroom with weak excuses of having seen _moths, or was it a grasshopper, either way we’re alright, Taeyong, sorry, Mr. Lee, keep forgetting not to call you that at school, I’ll see you later!)._ Donghyuck _immediately_ starts chewing Jaehyun out for not looking both ways when crossing the road, which is _obviously why you’re D to the E to the A to the D, sing it with me now boys!,_ going over the top with the dramatics in a way that only he really knows how _(may there be a plague on your house! May locusts devour your crops, and I hope you have a wedgie right now, Mr. Lee-Jung! I hope someone sues you!)_ , but the hand that finds Mark’s and the angry tears that won’t spill from his eyes make the gesture and concern, despite his lips stretched into a manic grin, quite genuine.

Jaehyun can only laugh, as he shakes the boy’s other hand. He also tells Donghyuck that he has his blessing, which makes him blush, burying his face into Mark’s shoulder in a way that may only be described as extremely incriminating. That’s something to pester Donghyuck about, Jaemin thinks, after all this is over.

Over, huh. That this will have an ending scares Jaemin a bit. It’s strange how used to this he’s gotten, in such a short span of time. It hasn’t been that long, only a week or two, but Jaemin feels like this has been his life for a lifetime, now.

Strange, what death makes life.

‘I guess,’ Jaemin says, as he, his friends and Jaehyun huddle into a circle, sitting on the floor, ‘we should make a plan, now.’

‘I have one,’ Chenle says, incredibly enthusiastic for someone who was screaming mere minutes ago. ‘We get Mr. Lee back in here right now!’

Mark grimaces, and Donghyuck squeezes his hand from beside him, comforting. ‘And force him to have a mental breakdown _at school?_ If we’re gonna do this, at least let Taeyong be in the comfort of his own home.’

‘Where is his home, anyways?’ Chenle looks absolutely _devious_ , causing Jisung to blink rapidly at his boyfriend’s face, a birdish morse code of panic. Chenle turns his satanic grin on the boy, causing him to become absolutely boneless. There’s something soft about Jisung that makes him bend to Chenle’s every whim. Perhaps Chenle’s screaming is like a siren song to the poor boy’s ears, or something. Jaemin honestly has no clue; the only thing he’s sure of is that the two of them are kind of cute to watch.

Jaehyun’s also watching the two of them, clearly amused in the way only a tired adult can be. ‘And why should I tell you that?’ He rests his chin on an open palm, arm balanced on his knee.

‘Because,’ Chenle says, ‘you’re going to tell us anyways?’

Ooh. Jaemin sucks in air through his teeth. The _audacity_. But Chenle’s not wrong, and Jaehyun seems to know it too. ‘Watch it, kiddo,’ he says, but there’s no bite to it. ‘You’re planning to tag along?’

Chenle waves it off. ‘Oh, _no_. I barely know you. Wouldn’t be right for us to go with you. Right, Jisungie?’ Jisung nods, mouth pressed into a straight line, head bobbing up and down. ‘Which is probably our cue to go. I’m going to the canteen, now. Nice meeting you!’ And Chenle jumps up, grabbing Jisung’s hand, pulling the younger boy out the door with him, a skip in ever step.

It’s kind of iconic to witness.

‘What a kid,’ Jaehyun whistles, lowly. ‘A firecracker, that one.’

‘Indeed he is,’ mumbles Renjun, from where he’s leaning on Jeno’s shoulder. ‘Going to kick his ass later today, disrespectful little twerp.’

‘Who even uses twerp anymore?’ Jeno laughs, into Renjun’s hair. Renjun looks up at him, and all of a sudden it’s like the two of them are lost in their own little world. There’s no distance between them, and it’s so beautiful to watch, like flowers blooming in an eternal springtime. His first and last loves, holding each other.

Jaemin hides a smile, ducking his head. ‘Sounds gay, guys.’

‘We _are_ gay,’ say Renjun and Jeno, in perfect synchronicity. ‘And,’ Renjun adds, ‘How was _that_ even gay?’

‘No comment,’ Jaemin says. He turns to Jaehyun, about to speak, but stops when he _looks_ at him.

It’s like a vacant space, a projection on a wall. A gust of wind, a sudden chill, warming in an instant. That’s what Jaehyun is, right now. There’s an element of wrongness to his existence, a sad kind of desperation, like clinging to a faded memory, like dust on your finger when you run it along a long-forgotten windowsill. Jaemin finds his voice, somewhere in the depths of him. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jaehyun answers. Jaemin thinks about how it’s become a habit, the two of them in a small classroom, sitting together. Asking the same questions, giving the same answers. Stuck in a kind of limbo, watching the clock hands turn, together, constant. Jaemin gets older, with every passing second, but he’s never been so acutely aware of it until now. Now, that he has something so timeless, unchanging beside him.

That’s the thing about life, Jaemin thinks. It’s so finite, preciously so. It ages, it ends. Jaehyun doesn’t, not anymore, and that’s what makes him an anomaly. It’s cruel, maybe, to call this floating imitation of a man an anomaly, but the more they spend time together, the more it becomes clear what he is. An image of life, decaying, dead. A ghost.

Now, if only Jaemin could say it out loud.

‘I know what you’re thinking, kid,’ Jaehyun says, soft, flickering as he traces aimless circles on the floor. ‘Would it be too much to say I’m scared?’ Jaemin thinks a little. Wonders what it’s like to be dead, what it’s like to watch the world move on around you. Wonders what it’s like to love someone who will never look at you again. Wonders what it’s like to be a walking memory.

‘No, not really.’ Jaemin watches his fingers, flitting across the carpet. Aimless, wandering. ‘I think anyone would be scared, in your situation.’ Jaemin wonders what he himself would be like. Toeing the line, stuck in limbo. Needing to move on, wanting to say. So scared to leave something behind, to miss out on life. But can you miss out on life even if it doesn’t belong to you anymore?

He wishes he knew Jaehyun in life. Jaemin stops himself. No, actually. He doesn’t, because if he knew him in life his death would hurt more than it does now, aching wounds where memories would be. Rather, he wishes Jaehyun was still alive. Wishes he could see the man driving his English teacher to school from the window overlooking the carpark on days where he came to school early. Wishes he could hear illicit anecdotes from Mark, wishes he could see Mr. Lee stand up just a little taller. Loss, grief, is not something Jaemin wants to go through, not right now. Longing is hard enough.

Jaehyun’s finger stops, in the very centre of the table, steady sure. ‘We should do it.’ He turns to Jaemin, smile wry. ‘I think it’s time, Jaemin.’ It’s like the rest of the world fades away in that moment,

‘Time for what?’ Jaemin asks, tone questioning, though he already knows the answer.

‘I think,’ Jaehyun says, ‘it’s time for me to go home.’

 

…

 

Mr. Lee’s home is still the same as in Jaehyun’s memories, a little apartment close to a train station, three stops away from Jaemin’s school. It’s pretty easy to get there, in that all Jaemin has to do is tell his mum and dad that he has a study group that day, pick Mark (and, consequentially, Donghyuck, because the younger boy had insisted coming as emotional support) up on the way there and manage to navigate his way around the quiet suburb Mr. Lee lives in. Renjun and Jeno couldn’t make it, today. As much as they’d wanted to, wanting to be there for him, Renjun had tutoring and Jeno had a music lesson his parents refused to let him skip. They’d kissed him good luck on Friday, though, and then they’d kissed him again out of worry. _Text us when you get there,_ Renjun had mumbled, against his lips, between kisses, almost uncharacteristically fearful. _And if anything happens, get Mark to text us. And tell us when you’re about to leave, and –_

Jaemin will forever assert that the subsequent makeout session they had was _entirely_ borne out of self-defence. Jeno had proof. You’d just have to check his phone for the footage.

It’s those fond memories that keep the anxiety at bay, as Mark knocks on Mr. Lee’s door. Though it seems that Mark’s more stressed about this than Jaemin is, trembling like a leaf as his knuckles rap against wood.

The padded sound of footsteps, the click of locks, opening. And then Mr. Lee, bags under his eyes, swaddled in a giant shirt and an even more gargantuan jacket. Jaehyun makes a soft sound, pained, from his place beside Donghyuck. ‘That’s my shirt,’ he whispers, choked as if someone had taken a knife and run him through with it. Perhaps that would have hurt less.

‘Mark?’ Mr. Lee asks, voice hoarse from disuse. He coughs into a fist, clearing his throat. ‘Wait, Donghyuck? Jaemin? What are you boys doing here?’

‘It’ll be easier to explain when we get inside,’ Mark says, toeing off his shoes with a practiced, Asian expertise, pushing past Mr. Lee, to some muted protest. Donghyuck shrugs, shucking his own scuffed Nikes off, following Mark in with a swagger that could only be described as sacrilegious. So then it’s just Jaemin and Jaehyun, standing outside, facing a slack-jawed Mr. Lee, and it’s getting so awkward that Jaemin decides to just take the plunge and walk in himself.

It’s a cosy little home, almost uncomfortably clean, polished wood tables on polished wood floors, buffed to a lustre that makes Jaemin glad he’d taken off his muddy shoes beforehand. There’s papers stacked all over the place, by the couch, on the table, just by the door, neat little piles but piles in all the same. _Trying to fill space,_ something whispers to him _. On the couch where he used to sit, on the table where we used to eat together. By the door where he used to hold me before I left for work._ Mark takes a place on the couch, sitting down gingerly as if he doesn’t want to disturb the dust that lives beneath the cushions. Donghyuck doesn’t give a shit and throws himself down next to Mark, letting his head rest on Mark’s shoulder as he eyes the space behind Jaemin.

Jaehyun’s hovering in the doorway. Funny, how alive he looks right now, Jaemin thinks. Funny, how much he belongs here. He leans against the doorway, a practiced movement, looking around. ‘It’s been years,’ he says, absently. ‘It almost looks exactly the same.’ Mr. Lee’s beside him, too, and they look like the perfect pair. But Mr. Lee can’t see Jaehyun, can’t see the warm, warm, _warm_ look in Jaehyun’s eyes, and Jaemin’s been strung tight these last couple of weeks so he can’t stop the tears that roll down his cheeks.

He turns away, before his teacher can see. Jaemin shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, squeezing them into fists. He takes a look around, and it really is almost exactly like in Jaehyun’s memories. There’s new candles sitting on the shelf by the window, and is that a new rug? But it’s almost the same, still feels like home. It’ll always be home.

The door clicks shut from behind him. ‘Mark? Will you tell me what’s going on?’ Jaemin wipes his eyes, chances a look back. Mr. Lee looks more worried than angry at the intrusion. A little tired, too, if the bags under his eyes are any indicator.

Mark takes Donghyuck’s hands, squeezing it. ‘Jaemin?’

They’d discussed it earlier, in the group chat. Jaemin’s already nervous about how it’s going to pan out, but Mark said the best chance they’d have would be if Jaemin did it suddenly. _Taeyong’s pretty skittish,_ Mark had said, in their squad’s group chat. _Either way he’s going to freak out. If we’re going to do this, we should do it in a way that doesn’t get us thrown out of the house._

Now that Jaemin thinks about it, maybe he should have asked Mark to talk to Mr. Lee beforehand, but since he’s a dumb teenager with little to no foresight and a lot of panic in his heart, he really doesn’t have that option now.

Well then. Only one thing left to do.

Jaemin turns back around. ‘Right. Okay. Right. Got this.’ Mr. Lee’s looking even more concerned now. ‘Could I have one of your hands, sir?’

‘What?’ Mr. Lee stretches out his right hand, anyways. The nicest teacher in the school.

‘Just, uh. Close your eyes.’ He doesn’t need to, but Jaemin feels like he’ll perform better if the teacher isn’t staring at him the entire time. Jaehyun’s hovering between the two of them, leaning forward almost precariously, looking as if he wants to rest his head on Mr. Lee’s shoulder and lay there forever and ever. Jaemin swats him away with his free hand. ‘Sir, do you believe in ghosts?’

Mr. Lee opens his eyes at this. ‘Pardon?’

‘Eyes closed, Mr. Lee. I know it’s a weird question, but still.’

Almost grudgingly, Mr. Lee closes his eyes. His lips push out into a pout, and Jaemin’s soul leaves his body at the sound of Jaehyun cooing at the motion. He punches the ghost in the shoulder as retribution. Not like it’d hurt him, anyways. He’s dead, after all. ‘I don’t know, Jaemin. I’ve never seen one.’

‘Also,’ Jaemin asks, because he runs his mouth when he's anxious, ‘why aren’t you freaking out about two of your students being in your house?’

‘You’re with Mark,’ Mr. Lee says, simply.

‘And that means?’

Mr. Lee squeezes his hand. ‘You’re with family. And I trust family.’

Jaemin almost melts to the floor. He takes a deep breath. ‘Okay then. So you’ll trust me when I say what’s going to happen next isn’t a trick?’

‘A trick? What are you going to do?’ Mr. Lee’s brows furrow. ‘Does this have something to do with ghosts?’ His eyes fly open, suddenly, face blanching. ‘Jaemin, what does this have to do with _me?’_

The words come to him, almost naturally, flowing, a memory. Not Jaehyun’s, but Jaemin’s own. _‘And all men kill the thing they love._ Oscar Wilde. _The Ballad of Reading Gaol_. That’s what you were quoting, that day. All men, it says. But it wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Jaemin –’

 _‘Trust me.’_ Jaemin takes his teacher’s other hand. Jaehyun can’t contain himself, now, reaching out to place his hand over Mr. Lee’s left one. The teacher’s eyes widen, even further. ‘Close your eyes, sir.’

A thousand butterflies in the stomach, plucked daisies, petal after petal. Bionicles, bike rides. Ends and beginnings and afters. Hoping, praying. Jaemin closes his eyes, and _pushes_.

And all of a sudden, the fifth hand, atop Jaemin’s and Mr. Lee’s, feels _more._

Jaemin opens his eyes, to the sight of Mr. Lee, stumbling backwards. ‘Jaehyun.’

The ghost smiles, in the light. ‘Love.’

It’s a terrible, terrible sound, the wounded howl that rips itself from the man’s lips, the way he throws himself at Jaehyun, kneeling on the ground, arms flung around Jaehyun’s waist, hands clawing, desperate.

Jaehyun drops down to his knees, too, to embrace him, sliding his arms around his husband’s waist, and Jaemin thinks this is the first time he’s really seen the man behind the ghost, his figure almost corporeal now, a flush to his skin that makes him look almost alive.

Jaemin realises that the memories he had seen the first time he met Jaehyun are infinitesimal compared to what he sees in front of him right now. His breath is caught in his throat, the sight before him blinding in its tragedy, every movement, sigh, an act of love. Absence has made the heart grow fonder, but it has tortured it, all the same.

‘Mark. Hyuck. I think we should go,’ Jaemin says, walking over, pulling his friends up off the couch as Jaehyun whispers sweet words into Mr. Lee’s hair. ‘Let’s give them some privacy.’

‘Huh?’ Donghyuck’s mouth is open, gaping as he watches the scene before them. Jaemin looks back, too. It reminds him of this marble statue Renjun showed him a picture of, last week. August Rodin, _The Kiss_. Lips not touching, but so close they may as well have been. Sweet, intimate. Almost scandalous to watch.

There’s some things he doesn’t need to know, to bear witness to. Some moments that should exist between loves alone. He tears his eyes away.

Even though his back is completely jacked, Jaemin’s surprised as to how easily he can drag Mark and Donghyuck out of the apartment. ‘Jaehyun can handle it,’ he tells them, feeling a bit of a pull in his arm when Mark starts to protest. ‘He and Mr. Lee can talk about everything. We’ve done our job, guys.’ A job, Jaemin this, might be the wrong word. A task, a favour, also wrong. Jaemin was never told to do this. Never tasked with it, never asked to do it. But he’d done it anyways.

It just felt right, he thinks, as he closes the door behind him, putting on his shoes alongside his friends, as Mark makes his way down the stairs, almost certainly to start up the car. Felt like he’d had to do it, the moment he’d seen Jaehyun that day. Not for renown, not for thanks. Not to watch the results of his labour flourish, when his labours had only been the tying of two threads together, after a long, long time of waiting.

It was a long time coming, Jaemin thinks. It was something that just needed to be done. It felt fundamentally right, he thinks, as he slides into the backseat of Mark’s car, but for what?

 

…

 

He wonders if he’d done the right thing, the following Monday, when Mr. Lee had caught him after class, Jaehyun by his side, to tell him Jaehyun was going to be moving on. He wonders if it was the right thing to do, when he’d realised he’d miss the ghost, his dimpled smiles, his presence. Even if he’d never really known him, only ever known the image of a man long gone.

‘I told him I’d wait for him,’ Jaehyun says, quietly, in the classroom they’d shared for the fortnight, now. ‘I’ll wait for him, but beyond the gates. I’ll have a home there, for us. And I’ll be there, and I know he’ll come, one day.’

‘You won’t stay here?’ Jaemin had asked, trying to keep the pleading out his tone, that irrational urge begging him to stay among the living.

Jaehyun had reached out at this, ruffling Jaemin’s hair. ‘I’ll miss it, but my time here is up, kid. Take care of Mark for me, yeah?’ He’d smiled, then. ‘I know Taeyong can look after himself, now.’

And then they’d embraced, one last time, and Jaehyun had walked away, back to Mr. Lee’s side.

Jaemin thinks that maybe he did it to see the smile on his teacher’s face, not quite sunny but still at peace, in the weeks after. Maybe to see him put the Agatha Christie books up on the borrowing shelf in his room. Maybe to see Jaehyun that one last time, a warm embrace from the dead, before walking away.

He wonders what he did it for, a few weeks after that, after Jaehyun’s been long gone from this world. Now that Mr. Lee’s alone, truly, now.

But the teacher looks at peace now, looks like he’s coping better. Looks like he doesn’t hold the guilt he used to. The poetry he recites is less heartbreaking. e. e. cummings. The cheerier Shakespeare poems. Pablo Neruda’s _When I Die, I Want Your Hands On My Eyes._

It’s a gorgeous poem, that one. _I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep._ The dead are only asleep, waking in a world so far away from ours. _I want for what I love to go on living._ Words sounding like last ones, a final sweet request before walking to the light.

Poetry itself is beautiful, in its brevity, its intimacy. Jaemin can see why Mr. Lee likes it so much – poetry paints more than a scene. It paints a moment, a world, maybe, but most of all it paints a feeling, dappled in bright colours, in the swooping of your heart. It’s what poetry does best, to invoke the turns of the heart so easily, and perhaps that’s why it speaks of love so well.

Love, a feeling, is well known enough. Love, the action, the application, is far more. It’s hard work and heartbreak, moments of hurt and healing. It’s knowing when to hold on, but knowing even more when to let go. And when letting go, it’s trusting that love will come back, one way or another. It’s trust and it’s hard and it’s not always beautiful, not always there. But perhaps those temporary things are the most beautiful in life. Perhaps those that leave us are what mattered the most. Perhaps we’ll always make our way back to the things we’ve lost. Perhaps they’ll come back to us. And perhaps none of that matters, in the end. As long as love has existed, if even for a moment, it is all that is needed to live on.

But it’s nice to know love, one last time. To know how loved you are, to love in return, if only for another moment, another night.

Jaemin thinks poems are beautiful, as he feels a head on his left shoulder, another on his right. Thinks love is beautiful, the stutter of the heart, guiltless. To give wholly with no regrets. To let others share in the same.

Maybe _that’s_ what the last weeks were for, Jaemin realises. Not poetry, as beautiful as it may be. He thinks he did it for love, as he presses his fingertips to his lips, quirked into a smile, drawing his fingers down to his heart, thinking fondly of the two boys, at his side.

He did it all for love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my appropriation of that one loss comic  
> jokes aside here's my little love letter to love and also dedicated to sam bc i look up to her and she has been nothing but a Wonderful Person in the time i have known her  
> title from pablo neruda's poem _when i die, i want your hands on my eyes ___
> 
> __  
> hmu on[twitter](https://twitter.com/tunajohns) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/tunajohns)  
> 


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